Nothing Else Matters
by Democritas
Summary: "You will have your revenge, Harry Potter."
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: Hey folks. This is my first attempt at Harry Potter fanfiction, and though I have a general idea of what I would like to do with this story, I'm not really sure how good it is. If you want to see more, review and let me know. Hope you enjoy!

A warning first: this story is rated M for a reason. If graphic violence, adult language, and other, more adult-in-nature naughty things are not your cup of tea, don't read any further.

Chapter 1 – And Nothing Else Matters

"_So close no matter how far…"_

- Metallica, Nothing Else Matters

His hands were caked in thick clumps of mud, but somehow, he managed to claw his way back onto his feet and renew his advances into the fray of fighting wizards and witches. Rain pelted down in cutting waves as it had all morning, distorting the scores of people through his glasses, yet he could still trace the faint outline of his enemy through the cacophony of spells and falling bodies- that _monster's_ deathly black robes were unmistakable. In his haste to the cloak figure, he slammed into one rotund figure in a full dash, sending him bowling back into the soggy ground. Momentarily gritting his teeth at the pain shooting through his shoulder, he launched back onto his twisting path.

The dark figure seemed to be waiting expectantly for him through the ocean of people; his hand would wave every now and then, sending various overzealous attackers to their quick, needless deaths as though he were swatting away nothing more than a common house fly. The figure's heavy gaze fell onto him after parting one particular attacker with his head; his withering smile a sick corrosion to the young man's nerves. The figure turned away with apparently no worry for his safety and strode back into the thicket of the dark forest.

"Harry!" he heard a familiar voice shout, slightly piercing through his focused thoughts and the yells and screams all around him. He turned to see the normally wavy amber hair of his best friend matted down around her face; a thin, long gash ran down her left cheek, he could see the streams of rain trickling through the blood that had already stained down her neck and onto her shirt. She looked tired and pale, yet still managed to carry herself to him with resolution etched in her brown eyes, something he'd only recognized from her after a long night of too much studying.

"Harry, I can't find them." She sounded panicked. "My coin isn't working for them at all." He looked down and noticed blood trickling down her slender wrist from some concealed wound from under her sleeves. In her hand, he could see the faint silvery outline of a coin gleaming with droplets of water on its rim. Her other hand was shaking uncontrollably by her side, a few cuts and bruises scattered across her fingers, clenching firmly around her wand.

_Great_, he thought glumly. The dark figure could no longer be seen, his billowing coal black cloak had faded into the bleak veil of ferns and wood. He hissed out a curse and relented his dark goal for a new purpose. He quickly produced an identical coin from his pocket and peered intently at its face. To anyone else, it appeared to be nothing more than a normal piece of money, but for him and a few select others, it belied information that was undeniably powerful in its importance.

The girl's arm suddenly shot up just above his shoulder and he turned just in time to see a dark violet beam crash squarely into the ivory mask of his would be killer, sending its shards flying in every direction as though a bomb detonated from within it. Its owner crumbled lifelessly to the ground, and the young man turned his attention back to the coin, barely acknowledging another death occurring.

He lifted the tips of his fingers and leveled them at the coin, muttering an old incantation under his labored breath. Something immediately sparked in his pale blues eyes at what the coin revealed.

"They're in there," he said and cocked his head back at the forest. "What in the bloody hell are they doing?" The girl edged closer and peered down onto the coin.

"They might have captured them," her voice trembled. "Everyone knows what they mean to you."

"Fuck!" he roared in frustration, "I thought they were going to stay with you."

The girl gave a long, shuddered breath, "They were with me- then Dawlish and Lestrange found us." Her voice trailed off for a moment and by the dull haze swirling in her eyes, he knew she was reliving something she would rather forget. "They killed four Aurors around us. Dawlish died and by the time Bellatrix was forced back into the rest of the flank of Death Eaters, Ron and Ginny were gone from my side."

Something ached in the pit of his stomach, his fingers felt hollow, even the dull throb ebbed from his bloodied lip as the thought that his girlfriend had best friend might already be dead somewhere in that blasted wood. He shut his eyes tightly and shook his head as though to try and jar the periled thoughts raking away his resolve.

"I'll find them, Hermione." He looked into her eyes, but the air between them had suddenly changed. Somewhere inside of him, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was the last time he would see her. It was something that openly permeated from her gaze as well. She suddenly looked lost; her eyes drained of all its energy, mournfully reminding Harry of when she had to bury her parents over the summer after _that monster's_ henchmen had somehow found their secret hiding place.

She opened her mouth just as he was about to turn towards the area the dark figure vanished in to, her body jarred as she caught herself in the midst of moving towards him. He turned back to her with tears burning in his eyes.

They looked at one another for what seemed like hours, the battle still raging to traumatizing heights behind her. "Harry, I-" her words stopped in her throat and she looked to the ground before meeting his eyes again, "I believe in you."

With that, his friend turned back toward the battle and with an agonizing lump filling his throat, his eyes followed her retreating form until she disappeared into the thickening battle.

He threw himself into the forest, bounding over crumbling arbor, twisting around dense thickets of razor sharp limbs, silently praying the two Weasley's merely escaped some horror to the slightly safer haven of the woods, and just had not returned to the field of battle yet. The centaurs were nowhere to be seen or heard of anywhere around him. He hoped they were far away from Ron and Ginny as well.

Slithers and shards of light piercing the canopy above dotted the path before him, no sounds or whispers of life reached his ears. He leapt down into a small open grove, where a sudden glimmer of light caught his eyes. Looking once more to the face of the coin, he steadied his labored heaves of air and shot forward.

"…they will find us." Ron's faint voice grew over his feet pounding over the dead fauna and crackling brown leaves.

"But _who_ will find us, you imbecile?" his girlfriend shrieked, momentarily coming into view. Harry felt a weight leave his shoulders as he trotted towards them, letting himself relax for once in the day knowing his friends were still alive.

A twig snapped with a loud pop under his foot, and the two redheads quickly turned to his closing figure with their wands immediately held in his direction.

"Merlin, Harry you gave us one hell of a fright!" Ron exclaimed, his whole body sagging dramatically.

"What in the bloody hell are you two doing in here!" he hissed when he stopped in front of the pair. He bent forward, resting his hands on his sore legs, thanking whatever gods that were listening for the small reprieve from the fight.

"It was Death Eaters, Harry." Ginny placed a small hand on his shoulder.

"Remember Dumbledore saying that you will be prime targets for them?" he barked, his anger clearly evident in his voice, "He said that you three should stick together. Do you have any idea what it would do to me if I would've found your bodies instead?"

"We get you, Harry," Ron said in an uncharacteristically soft reply. "It's just that it couldn't be helped on this one. It's nutters out there."

Harry raised his head, silently nodding in apology to them. "Did you get the sorry bastards chasing you?"

"Chasing us Harry?" Ginny asked curiously.

He looked back to his path, sadly noting that he could no longer hear the battle. "Yeah, you said Death Eaters were the reason you two wound up here."

"Oh," Ginny nodded. "Yes, they chased us." He saw her glance over to Ron and Harry turned to him.

"Yeah, Dawlish and Bellatrix flew out of their line and into a clump of us." Ron motioned his hands around, making himself look like a cat pouncing onto its prey.

He felt a tremble in his lips, recalling the dour look that passed over Hermione's eyes when she mentioned that. Though oddly enough to him, Ron and Ginny looked somewhat on edge, yet no sign of horror passed through their faces. It occurred to him at that moment, neither had a scratch on them either; another thing to be thankful for at the very least.

"We gave them a good fight, roughed up Bellatrix swimmingly," Ron puffed out his chest and continued, "but that crazy bitch kept coming. They killed four Aurors around us, and when Dawlish saw us, we knew what he had in mind."

Harry nodded sadly. "To kidnap you," he said, waiting for the rest of the story Hermione had already told him. It was more a terrible statement than a question.

Ron and Ginny nodded, and his tall red-haired friend continued. "We must've lost Hermione at that point. Probably still tangling with Lestrange, knowing her." He looked up to Harry and immediately looked sorry. "Well, you know why Harry. She killed them after all."

Oh yes, Harry knew all too well. He remembered trying to pick Hermione off of the scorched ground of what used to be her house when they arrived there from Grimmauld Place. He remember her crying uncontrollably when they came across a little memento from the culprits, maliciously left their bearing the mark of Bellatrix herself.

It took the rest of last summer for Hermione to leave her room, and she refused to talk to anyone except Harry. It was the death of her parents, she would whisper to him, the bore undeniable proof of a traitor in the midst. Though he, Ron and Hermione were always the closest of friends, something entirely different started to grow between himself and Hermione during their time alone over the summer. Their connection steadily grew into something far beyond friendship, to the point they could easily complete the others sentences, much to the playful ribbing of many of his housemates and Ron.

"Yeah, I understand," he nodded glumly.

"Well, we ripped our way through the fight towards here since _he_ decided to send those mountain trolls to block the doors to Hogwarts." Ron turned at a sound behind him and carefully paced over to the far end of the clearing. "It would've been all well and good if that bastard Dawlish hadn't chased us so far in," he said; his head still as he peered into the forest's depths.

The softening rhythm of breaths suddenly caught in his throat. He replayed the words his best friend had just said over and over in his head. Surely he had been mistaken to hear that, or perhaps Ron _thought_ that it was Dawlish in his haste to exit the battle.

"Dawlish chased you in here?" His voice remained steady, convincingly nonchalant.

"Yeah, it was him," Ginny piped up to his right, "A beast of a man at that- he couldn't fit through the brush too well, seeing how tall he is, so we lost him quickly."

His mind hummed, his thoughts slipping into confusion.

"Ginny…" he paused and faced her directly. "That's impossible. Dawlish died when he and Bellatrix killed those Aurors." From the edge of his vision, he saw Ron visibly tense at his words. Ginny's mouth parted to reply, but something he couldn't recognize flickered across her face.

"How would you know?" her voice had changed, cutting and cold. "You weren't there, so how would you know?"

"Hermione told me," he said in confusion, looking intently at his girlfriend, desperately trying to figure out what he was missing.

"And you believed that fucking bookworm?" the dainty red-haired girl suddenly roared, causing Harry to instinctively step back.

He was at a total loss for words. His eyes darted to and from the siblings, Ron's figure as still as a statue, and Ginny seemingly coming apart before his very eyes.

"And he should, my dear," a cold, dark voice drawled from behind him, igniting the nerves along his spine. He knew that voice as well as his own. It was that empty, rippling timbre that destroyed his dreams on a near nightly basis.

"Hello, Riddle." His growl shook in his chest as the cold, rounded tip of a wand pressed into the curve of his neck.

"Dawlish is dead," his serpentine nemesis hissed, ignoring his insult. "And it was the mudblood Granger that killed him."

Ginny suddenly screamed, her eyes grew empty and dark. The tip of Voldemort's wand slowly pivoted around his neck until he could see the tall, imposing monster come into his field of vision. With his boned, gangly wand pointed directly at Harry's forehead, the monster slowly paced backwards.

Then, something happened that shattered any warmth Harry still held in his body. The monster slowly slipped his free arm around the waist of his girlfriend, who in return, flung her arms around him, sobbing and cursing for blood.

"There, there Ginny." His raspy voice somehow twisted into an abomination of comfort for her. "She will pay."

There was a rustling to his left, and the next thing Harry knew he was crumpled to the ground, his jaw throbbing in pain as the towering visage of Ron loomed over him.

"I've wanted to do that for years." Ron spit on him and growled, "And this is for Ginny."

His apparent best friend reared a boot clad foot back and rammed it directly into Harry's chest, sending him sprawling to his back, gasping and wheezing for air, a fine mist of blood shooting from his heavy coughs.

"Now Mister Weasley," came Riddle's amused yet stern voice, "we must have him somewhat able for a duel."

Then Ron compliantly uttered three words that shook Harry to his very core.

"Yes, my Lord."

The edges of the clearing all around him began to shake and tremble with motion. And from the forest's blackened depths, figures and creatures crept out into the dimmed light of the grove. Lumbering trolls, snarling werewolves, Death Eaters- everywhere. To Harry's horror, there were various creatures who looked like humans, yet seemingly rotted and dead, groaning and awkwardly swaying like limbs on a gnarled, forsaken tree..

Behind his foe, the distant figures of others creatures made themselves known, though it took a moment for Harry to see them. It seemed as though the very shadows of the wood were sapped away and covered the creatures as they walked into the light. Nary a discernable feature told him they were human, except when he noticed their eyes- blighted in the hue of blood, glowing and piercing like crimson fire. It was then that he realized they weren't human at all- they were vampires.

"I am glad you all could come!" Voldemort shouted, pacing in small, preposterously dignified steps. "You- all of you will be my witnesses to the end of this war and the end of this pathetic façade of a world. When this wretched creature before me dies as feebly as I know he will, then I shall never know death!"

The volume of the dark spectators intensified to such levels, Harry weakly covered his ears, though it was probably music to the monster's ears.

"Pick him up! His weakness disgusts me!" Voldemort spat and Harry suddenly felt two strong arms yank him to his feet.

"Ginny," he gasped, still numb in shock. He didn't know what else to say. He could only muster the name of the girl who he had loved so dearly.

His head jerked back as a hand crashed into his cheek. He looked back to see Ginny standing in front of him.

"Surprised, Harry?" she purred. "Well don't be. I, for one, am glad this little game is over."

He then felt one of her small, slender hands trail down his chest. "I can't believe after all that I went through to get you, yet you still trust that fucking bookworm over me," she spat in disgust. Then he felt her fingers wrap around the bulge of his cock and slowly began to pump him.

"At least Dawlish helped with washing the remnants of you off of me," she said in an innocent, yet mocking voice. Then her tone grew darker. "But your mudblood had to go and kill him." She immediately released her grasp on him and sent another resounding slap across his face.

"And poor Ron never even got as far as hugging that fucking mudblood- the brown haired bint was too proper for anything more," she spat. "Just as well though, I imagine. She'll be the Ron's plaything when all is said and done anyway."

"That's right, Potter," she cooed, "and it's a shame you won't be around to see the look on her face when he takes her either."

The Death Eaters around him cackled mercilessly. Voldemort slowly lifted his hand and his gathered minions went silent. He walked over to Harry and pried the coin from his hand. He lifted it to his red, slitted eyes and studied it for a few moments.

"Brilliant piece of magic, Harry. To me, it is just a normal coin," he said. "Your mudblood certainly is the brightest witch of her age. It's a shame she did not foresee that it would ultimately lead to your death, isn't it?"

"When the young Weasley siblings came to me with these, I then realized the perfect way to lure you away from that cretin Dumbledore and all his merry soldiers." He walked back to where Ginny's form stood. "Knowing how deeply you cared for these two, now my most prized servants, I knew their distress would make you run into this forest, like the idiotic Gryffindor you are. So, what else could I do? Create a needless battle and have them lure you here."

"I must admit my shock at their initial reluctance to partake in their mission. Perhaps, not for the reason that you think, however. Both had to play your friend for many years, much to their reasonable disgust- young Ginny here had to sully her body with a muggle lover like you. But she has served me so well, so admirably by tricking you, Dumbledore and his entire ilk; I will take care of her, Harry." One of his gnarled hands snaked down to Ginny's stomach and he gave a ghastly smile.

Harry thought he would be sick at his words, but then Ginny's empty eyes fell on him and she said, "My parents will be happy to know they don't have to keep you under our roof anymore."

Unbeknownst to him, something must have changed on his face, because Ginny began to laugh quite heartily. "Now all there is left to do is kill that mudblood Granger and see the look on her face when she realizes her brainy ass was duped as badly as you were, then I will feel vindicated."

It was in that moment, something snapped inside of the raven haired boy. It was a lie. It was all a lie. Ron's friendship, Ginny's love, both were a searing lie playing him like a two-bit fiddle ever since he'd met them. The one family that saved him every summer from his dreadful Aunt and Uncle, that welcomed him with the first pair of open arms he'd ever known- they were a lie. A big fucking lie.

Something inside his heart shattered as he stared at the mocking face of Ginny, but was immediately replace with something entirely different, entirely darker, entirely easier to consume. His breath began to come in quick, uncontrollable huffs as he pictured the smiles on each of their faces that he now knew were nothing more that caricatures for his naiveté. The tears in his eyes sizzled tracks down his cheeks, yet he did not care. He could see hundreds of faces in front of him- Ginny, Ron, the death eaters, _that fucking monster_- they were all laughing, yet he could not hear them. He knew he was a dead man. He knew he would not live to see Hermione anymore. But he wasn't finished- not by a damned sight.

'_In times of great distress,' Dumbledore said as he popped a lemon drop in his mouth and gave Harry a wink, 'the irrational sometimes becomes the most rational thing to do.'_

This was his end. He knew that the moment he saw Hermione's reaction. He knew that the moment he rushed headlong into the pitted blackness of the forest. But he didn't even imagine it would be at the hands of his girlfriend and best friend. His head throbbed in pain, his jaw ached and his knees felt as though they would give out at any moment. But there was something that made his hands started to shake, a new life inside of him demanding its due, a howling mantra of a scorned, dying man rung in his ears- suffer as I have, _suffer_ as I have. He let it consume him, he let his magic feed on its wrath; he let it spit out of him like errant blasts of a waking volcano.

Voldemort seemed to notice something was going terribly, terribly wrong, for his raspy laughter died in his chest only scant seconds after Harry met his red soulless eyes. His minions all around continued their boisterous, senseless laughter, Harry noticed with a donning smile. There was a rumbling filling his chest, slowly, steadily peaking in a dull roar.

"I am going to kill you all." There was no force in his voice, or any shred of anger. It flowed out smoothly, softly; it floated out, barely a whisper above the rancorous taunts. The Death Eaters' cackles immediately grew louder; apparently none the wiser of their master's currently increasingly confused expression.

Ginny's laughter slowly died away as she looked at him, his words seemingly cutting in her confident demeanor like a rusty blade.

"Everyone, leave." The monster said as he stared at Harry, yet all of them still laughed and shot taunts and insults towards Harry. _Hubris_, whispered a deathly calm voice in Harry's mind that sounded oddly like Hermione's, as he waited patiently for the storm to gather inside of him.

"Leave this place now you fools!" Voldemort shouted this time, and everyone grew silent yet seemingly stayed their spots as though they were rooted there in puzzlement. However, Ginny did not need to be told again, for she stumbled back a few steps before quickly turning and busting through the congregated as though the icy hand of death was caressing the hairs on her neck.

This seemed to unnerve many of the minions. Some hesitantly backed away; some drew their wands out and pointed them at him. Then all became silent. Not a whisper could be heard; even the forest seemed to hush as though it were preparing for some impending calamity.

For a moment, his mind calmed, his bloodied and battered body no longer ached for release. He thought of Hermione, of how he would never see her again. He realized with a pang of sorrow that she would be alone now; that she would have these monsters chasing her for the rest of her days. With a flare of anger he realized that he could not protect her, and more than anything that had transpired in this grove, the thought that they might hurt her sent his rage to heights beyond his imagination.

"_Harry…" her brown eyes seemed to sparkle as she sat the box down in her lap and meticulously peeled away the dark green wrapping paper._

_With a mirthful smile, his anxiety for what her reaction might be slowly faded into a warm contentment when her eyes grew wide and one of her trembling hands suddenly shot to her mouth as she lifted the felted, wide velveteen lid. Oh yes, she liked it very much._

_Jolly good show, Potter, jolly good show._

There came a hissing sound seeping into his ears, yet it wasn't from the serpent-like man before him or from any of his minions. The faint sound of leaves rustling at his feet slowly emerged, yet he could not hear the steps of feet accompanying it. A cool, curiously heavy wave of air brushed against his tear soaked face.

_Hermione huffed in annoyance, yet he could practically hear a smile donning her face. "Well, Birthday Boy. I guess I'll tell the Weasley's you're still out cold."_

_He then felt her warm breath tickling his ear, igniting every nerve in his body. "You know, this means you owe me a foot massage when your lazy arse finally graces us with your presence," Hermione teased him as he felt her gently stand up from the edge of his bed._

_With his eyes still closed, he smiled and nodded. "I owe you so much more than that, Hermione," he said softly as sleep began to reclaim him. "So much more…"_

Hermione- nothing else mattered. He was a dead man, but a fury boiling in his mind screamed that he would have his revenge. He would see them dead for taking his chance to see his bushy haired best friend one more time, for hating her for no reason, for wanting to harm her.

"_Harry, I-" her words stopped in her throat and she looked to the ground before meeting his eyes again, "I believe in you."_

Without warning, the fragile seams desperately trying to hold his roiling magic together burst, thundering out of him in devastating speed as though the hand of a vengeful God itself was moving it.

Voldemort's eyes were blazing in shock as he was hurled across the clearing, smashing into a terrified wall of his minions with a sickening crunch. He heard the old trunks of trees around him groan and wail; their tops crackled and quaked seconds before violently snapping in a deafening boom.

Then- Hell broke loose.

The earth rumbled for a moment and then the sky vanished in an eruption of earth and debris exploding into the air. The screams of hundreds of creatures pierced the sounds of sharp rocks raining down all around him. Many of those screams suddenly cut short, or faded in a languished moan of pain.

Like a reckless geyser, dirt and rubble, shards of trees and limbs spewed endlessly from around him, yet not a grain of sand touched his body. His knees were giving out from under him, his energy sinking fast, yet his fury would not allow for their Hell to end just yet.

A thick beam of sickly green light suddenly pierced through the blistering hail of earth, hurdling passed his head and crashing into one of the broken trees behind him. His eyes snapped open and the ground beneath him grew still.

The world grew silent; no breath, no whisper of life met his ears. Only the gentle pattering of dirt falling back down could be heard. But not a moment later, there was a guttural scream somewhere to his right-

"Get him you fools!" he heard Voldemort scream in fury. Another beam of light shot through the gently falling dirt, but this one found its mark. The silvery thin beam sliced across his left cheek, causing his head to jerk back in shock. And before he could recover, a bright red glow filled his vision scant seconds before it felt like a boulder crashing into his right arm, another into the pit of his chest.

He momentarily felt the sensation of flying through the air, and to his shock, he felt something soft brace his landing on the ground. He quickly shot his head up and saw that he was out of the clearing by some distance, but it looked more like a meteor had crashed there now. Dirt no longer blocked his vision, and he felt momentary awe at the calamitous destruction that lay before him.

The trees only mere paces in front of him were either lying prone to the ground, or missing all together, and shards of their ancient trunks were all that belied they were there before. His mind suddenly screamed at him to run, jarring him from his daze.

He feebly lifted himself up, and perhaps only through magic and adrenaline, he burst into the forest. Not even a moment later, beams of many lights rocketed passed him, smashing the bark away from trees, some severing their limbs in a fell cut. Shielding his eyes, he leapt over a lump of corroded arbor and jerked himself behind and into the protection of a clump of trees.

Onward he ran, his right arm hanging limply at his side, slamming and scratching against the blur of bark and brush. Blood was flowing freely from his arm, cooling his skin as the wind rushed around him. The damned forest seemed endless, but somewhere through its abyssal depths, Hermione waited for him. He had to tell her, he had to save her, and nothing- _nothing_ else mattered.

A sharp pain suddenly exploded in his left leg, a bleak, tattered wail of what his voice once was left his lips as he slammed into the unforgiving earth. Feebly curling his injured leg to his chest, he looked down through his hazy eyes and saw the side of his pants gashed apart, his thigh covered in a stream of viscous red.

"You cannot run from fate." A thin voice hissed, seemingly filling all the air around him. He frantically shot his head around, looking for its insidious source, yet all around him were nothing but trees and shadows.

Then something caught his eye. There, in the bleakness between two wide trees below him, the shadows seemed to move. But in an instant, the blackened shape seemed to melt back into nothingness. With all the strength he could muster, Harry lifted his torso up with his left arm, and collapsing all his weight down onto it once he locked his elbow.

"I thought fate would sound prettier," Harry scoffed sarcastically, trickles of defeat seeping into his heart.

Suddenly his entire body felt as though a great weight was pressing him down into the jagged earth. Struggling underneath the invisible force, Harry writhed to little effect. Then a darkness enveloped the sky above him, and it was then that he saw two vibrant, searing crimson eyes staring directly into his.

The shadows slithered and snaked around the form, whipping from the being like embers from a fire. But then, they seemed to thin, dispersing in wisps of smoke and mist, revealing a pale, slender faced man. His hair, tucked behind a pair of pointed ears, was long and silvery white. Then, he opened his mouth, revealing two elongated, sharp fangs.

"Remember, Harry Potter…" the man said, "it was a proxy."

"What are you talking about?" he gritted out.

"The end- your end," the being looming above him replied calmly. "The single thing twining your fate with Voldemort's- what you know isn't all of it."

"The proph-" Harry started, then all of the breath in his lungs left his body when he was suddenly jerked into the air. The creatures hand gripped tightly around his neck, his feet dangling haplessly as his struggling body was lifted from the ground.

Harry's eyes widened in shock, his focus instantly dimmed into nothingness when he felt two sharp stabs into the crook of his neck. His body- his magic- seemed to go haywire. Sparks of magic burst and sizzled into the air, vengefully lashing out like a cornered beast at anything it could touch. The creatures grip on his neck faltered for a moment, but the pain, the searing pain never seized.

His body grew numb; the air brushing across his face seemed colder. His magic slowly stopped struggling, and then, the pain left his body as he felt himself unceremoniously fall back to the earth in a dull crunch.

He thought of Hermione, her untamed brown hair, her soft inquisitive eyes. He wondered if she was okay, if she would be okay. As his breathing quickened to sharp, breathless hitches, his only regret was that he could not save her from _that _monster.

Then the thick, penetrating whisper of his attacker slipped into his fading, laborious thoughts, whispering the last words he heard.

"You will have your revenge, Harry Potter."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: Relatively shorter update here. Still ironing out quite a lot of the rest. Review and let me know what you think!

_We didn't start the fire._

_It was always burnin'_

_since the world's been turnin'._

_We didn't start the fire,_

_No we didn't light it,_

_But we're trying to fight it._

_ "We Didn't Start the Fire" – Billy Joel_

Chapter 2 – Wall

It looked… neverending; thousands of faces, some covered in masks, some covered in blood. The breadth of voices- some in pain, some in fury- flooded her ears like a maelstrom steadily surging to its peak. The weight of finality was certainly digging in her stomach, as if her body had already accepted that there were ends to be told today. Perhaps hers, perhaps every single person she had ever cared for. Every nerve in her body wanted this day of death to be the end, yet she knew deep down that it was only the first of many to come. Voldemort's ranks were swelling out of the forest's edge like a tide of locusts. Thousands of creatures, denizens of the deepest, most wretched pits of the hell roared and clambered their way up the steepened slope where the brunt of the allied army of light were entrenched.

The booming, shattering sounds of tree limbs met her ears, and not a moment later, the sky was filled with a swathe of human-sized boulders- some hitting their mark on a few unfortunate souls who couldn't wrest themselves away in time, others landing on some of their own army.

"Hold your ground!" Dumbledore's magically amplified voice rang out over the field. She turned her eyes back to the edge of the forest for only a moment. She could not see Harry anymore; and now, he was somewhere in its treacherous boughs, the house of both his friends and his greatest enemy.

A spray of blood suddenly covered the left side of her face, jarring her body in shock. As if time had slowed, her dilated eyes glanced down to see the head of a werewolf rolling languidly across her path.

"…alright, Hermione?" the voice of Neville Longbottom edged into her mind. She blinked, prying herself from her stupor and looked over to see the lanky form of her classmate just has he laid a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm fine, Neville, I'm fine." She said and took a shuddered breath. The tips of her feet curled on to a soft cusp outlining a low, plush dip in the ground before the hillside gradually melded into the cobblestone walkway back towards the castle. The battle had slowly, gradually moved up the hill; a contingent of Aurors and varying members of magical law enforcement from other countries had wrapped around the remaining forces of Voldemort's army in a crescent-like shape, coming down on the far right side of the hill and slowly swinging into the right flank of what looked to be a handful of Death Eaters and werewolves.

With a nod to Neville, she began to make her way up the pathway, keeping her eyes locked on the mass of creatures, back towards the brunt of the attack. Much of the ground to her left was charred; small craters spattered in pools of blood, jagged gashes that still billowed thick smoke littered the hillside, yet curiously enough, she did not see any bodies.

Then she noticed something in the far corner of her left eye and stopped. There, right under a particularly reaching bough jutting out from the forest, two men draped in black robes idly standing around, their boned masks slightly jutting from their shadowy hoods.

Quickly dashing to a nearby effaced corroded tree trunk, she peaked around its knobbed top just as another figure in the same attire came walking to the other figures. Something was amiss, she thought, when they slowly turned and casually walked into the dense forest; clearly not in retreat or running in fear, but almost as if they were going to a more important place other than the battle they were trying to win not even a stone's throw away from them.

When she could no longer see the figures, she was astonished to see a few more lazily make their way into the forest along the vast tree line. She stood up and looked into the ocean of people battling across the field, looking for a sign of any other black-cladded figures.

_Something is not right_, she realized as she looked over the field, _this surely cannot be all of the Death Eaters_. She could only make out perhaps four or five of them, if even that. Even then, she could see the tops of their heads slinking to the rear of the fight amid the chaotic bursts and volleys of spell fire.

"Reducto!" she shouted, and a lifeless body of a werewolf slammed into the ground, skidding to halt mere paces to her side. She worked her mind over and over on the strange behavior of the Death Eaters, and then with a jolting realization, it hit her.

_Harry_.

With not a moment's hesitation, the brown haired girl charged up the hill, firing a barrage of spells at any creature barring her way. She dove into the clamor of fighting with naught on her mind but audience with one person. Pushing and jabbing her elbows into the sides of faceless combatants, she wrestled her way through mob and mob of brutal fighting. Then, as she took care of a particularly gnarly looking goblin, she saw the top of the head of the person she wanted to see.

"Headmaster!" she screamed, clawing her way through the tangle of Aurors that had formed an arc around him. The elder wizard looked over at her just as he cast another volley of dark blue beams that quickly morphed into long pointed spears searing into a clump of goblins.

"Miss Granger," his voice floated to her over the yells, "what are you doing up here?"

"It's Harry, sir!" she shouted and tumbled as a body slammed into her back. Regaining her footing, she continued, "The Death Eaters have all gone, sir! They know he's in the forest!"

The headmaster looked confused for a moment, his twinkling eyes looking intently at her. "What are you talking about Miss Granger? Who is in the f-"

Then, Hermione's knees nearly gave out from under her when a sudden, deafening boom rang out in the distance. She shot her eyes to something rising up from the canopy in a deep part of the forest- a huge, billowing cloud of dirt rocketing into the air at devastating speed. It looked as though a massive bomb had just been set off, and every single person on the battlefield stopped and looked on to the explosion in total awe.

"Harry!" she screamed in terror, and it wasn't until she heard the comforting words of her Headmaster whispering into her ear that she realized that he was gently holding her at bay in his arms, and she was struggling with every ounce of her power to wrest free and charge into the forest.

"Miss Granger," he whispered in her ear, "you mustn't go in there. He would not want you to go in there."

"Let me go!" she screamed, not caring for the speechless expressions on the faces of all of the witches and wizards staring at her. "Let me go, damn you! He needs me!"

She crumbled into his arms in defeat, sobbing uncontrollably. Without warning, the fell creatures still growling and snarling at the massive line of defenders slowly paced back. Through her teary eyes, she watched in sorrow as they slowly disappeared back into the black forest, back where Harry was, back where her best friend had probably just met his destiny.

The shocked witches and wizards all around her looked to the Headmaster and as continued to comfort her. She looked up to see his eyes empty and on the verge of tears. As old as he was, it was never so apparent than in that moment.

Suddenly a new voice rang out across the battlefield, a snake-like, rattling hiss filling the air all around her.

"Dumbledore! Your savior is dead!" Voldemort even took a few moments to fill the air with an unearthly laughter before continuing. "What is there to stop me now, old man? Nothing!" he roared. "You and the entire world will soon know death."

"Come," he whispered to her and gently guided her towards the castle, "let me take you to Madame Pompfry."

And so, with a line of battered and bloody witches and wizards in her wake, she feebly left the battlefield anchored to the Headmaster's trembling arm. It was a diversion, she realized with unrepentant sorrow. The maelstrom had finally found its peak.


	3. Hell Hath No Fury

Chapter 3 – Hell Hath No Fury

_Anger as soon as fed is dead-_

_ 'Tis starving makes it fat._

-Emily Dickinson

"How am I supposed to inform the people of every known magical community in the world that our only chance at winning this war is lying dead somewhere in that blasted forest, Albus?" Cornelius Fudge screeched, waving his bony hands erratically all around him.

Hermione's blood felt as though it was being plunged into ice at his words. Harry wasn't dead, she knew it. She could feel it. Yet that blasted slime of a man continued to pour drivel out of his mouth like a child who lost his favorite toy.

"I believe we're only seeing the beginning of how deep this deception ran, Albus." Minerva McGonagall added somberly. Hermione considered her rare show of emotions to be nearly groundbreaking, but the tears streaming down the old matron's face kept that sentiment squarely in check. The Transfiguration professor continued, "This school will most assuredly be nothing more than a shelter now."

It was nearly midnight now, and the Headmaster's office was practically overflowing with professors, ministry officials, and delegates from other countries. Though when Fudge barged in, he immediately demanded that Hermione leave since "adult matters" were being discussed. But it only took one look at Dumbledore's thinly veiled rage in his eyes to have the Minister whimper and not say any more on the subject. So Hermione sat there, silently feeling her heart break more and more, in the plush chair right in front of Dumbledore's desk.

Dumbledore merely sat behind his desk, sullen and tired. The chatter in the background was quieted, yet endless. The door suddenly flew open and Snape floated into the room, surprisingly not wearing his perpetual sneer, but more a downcast, frighteningly somber look.

"Albus, if I may," Snape spoke up and walked towards Dumbledore's desk. Dumbledore looked up slowly and looked towards the Potions master for a moment.

"Everyone," the wizened wizard said softly, "if I may ask you to leave for a few moments, we will continue this meeting later." Fudge opened his mouth to speak, but shut it quickly.

Once everyone had left the room, Snape looked down to Hermione for a moment and back to the Headmaster. "Sir, I do not think she should hear this right now."

Odd, Hermione thought, Snape didn't ask her to outright leave. She slowly leaned forward in her chair, her curiosity momentarily quelling the terrible pangs of sadness rumbling through her.

"It is alright, Severus." Dumbledore nodded to him. "She has some information that surely sheds light on what is happening."

To her shock, Snape looked down to her for a moment and gave her what only could be described as an apologetic expression. "Very well…"

Snape walked over to the chair beside her and sat down. For what seemed like minutes, he did not speak. He only leaned forward, his head hung, his eyes staring blankly at the floor as though some great weight would not leave his thoughts. In all her years to have had the misfortune of knowing him, she had never seen him look so…human.

"I know what happened now, sir." His voice sounded troubled. "Voldemort convened a celebratory occasion- and when he arrived- he also arrived with two other cloaked figures at his side."

Her stomach fell to her feet when Snape slowly tilted his head and looked directly into her eyes.

"Go on, Severus," Dumbledore said softly.

Snape sat up in his chair and turned towards Hermione. "Miss Granger, could you tell me about 'the coins'?" he flatly asked, yet he did not look mad at all.

Dumbledore looked over to her with a curious expression as she tried to comprehend why Snape was asking such a trivial thing.

"I found a way to essentially locate people- attune specific individual's magic to a device that would allow for them to be found in the event that they became lost or kidnapped." She went on to tell them about how the DA was all given coins so that they could stick together in the coming battles.

"My coin had apparently been damaged at some point in the fight with Bellatrix and Dawlish," a lone tear ran down her cheeks, recalling the very reason that Harry went into the forest in the first place.

Apparently sensing her turbulent emotions, Dumbledore spoke up. "Are these coins the reason they found Harry."

Snape nodded glumly.

"I don't understand, Professor," Hermione said in confusion. "They are only meant to be readable by the person they are made for. I used every anti-sabotage charm I knew on them. Did they find a way to tamper with a stolen one or something?"

Snape took a long, shuddered breath. "I'm sorry to say this Miss Granger, but they were not tampered with at all."

He looked squarely at the Headmaster. "They were used by their owners to lure Harry to his death."

Dumbledore immediately shot up from his chair, a rare look of shock etched across in old face.

"A student?" he whispered. "A student was responsible for this?"

"Two students, sir." Snape replied, and looked directly at Hermione with a look of utter sadness.

_Two students…_

Items and trinkets around the room shook for only a scant moment before they were literally disintegrating into nothingness. And as his words sank further and further into her ears, fury became her; no other force dared keep it from her thirsting heart.

She barely realized that she was no longer standing through the avalanche of thoughts and anger coursed through her mind. It was them; it was his dearest friends. And they betrayed him to his death. They took the very brightest thing in her life, they took him and they killed him. They took her Harry.

A scream of limitless, righteous fury shot from her lips. Piece by piece, everything that had occurred slipped in the place, fitting together seamlessly in one terrible picture. Ron's and Ginny's disappearance, the destruction of her coin. Those monsters _knew_ she would run to Harry to find them. They _knew_ he would in turn run headlong into the forest to save them. _They knew_ that was the kind of person he was- ever the savior, ever the brave.

In her wakening rage, it took the frightful shouts of calming spells from both Snape and Dumbledore, and both of them holding onto her arms to stop her from leaving the room.

"I'm going to kill them!" she screamed to the top of her lungs, her voice cutting her throat to shreds. McGonagall timidly stuck her head in, probably due to the noise of the commotion, and immediately dashed to grab hold of her.

"What in Merlin's name is going on, Albus-," she heard McGonagall yelled desperately over her screams when an ear piercing blast shot from her entire body. The three professors were suddenly blown back into the walls and cupboards of the room when Hermione finally snapped and subsequently crumbled to a heap in the floor.

"It appears that she, and all of us, has been betrayed." Dumbledore said solemnly as he slowly got back to his feet and carefully walked back over to Hermione's trembling form, wrapping her up in his arms. Like the many ghosts that drifted through the halls, she felt as though she were floating the entire way back to her dormitory, her fury now numbed, yet swiftly replaced with wave after wave of painful sobs.

It felt like days until Hermione's anger had subsided. Dumbledore, McGonagall, even Snape, took turns watching over her in the privacy of the Headmaster's quarters; albeit, "watching over" did not adequately describe her current environment. It became more a test for the professors to see how well that they could keep her from ripping the wizarding world apart, looking for the two siblings who took her Harry.

Dumbledore took to teaching Hermione quite a few complex forms for transfiguration in efforts to keep her mind occupied. Though she eagerly tasked herself to devour all of the rare opportunity to learn from the Headmaster himself, it was like merely putting a strip of cloth on the crack of a dam. She could see it in his eyes every night before she went to bed; he knew that it was only a matter of time before he could no longer stop her.

While Dumbledore made absolutely no endeavor to forgive the actions of the two youngest Weasley's and their family, all of whom were now tucked safely away under the protection of Voldemort, he also urged Hermione to consider the repercussions of going after them on her own. Yet in his own right, she could tell that there was a seething fury in him, boiling and scraping under the surface of his eyes every time Harry was mentioned.

It had been a normal day so far for Hermione, just last the past three weeks. She awoke to a pillow stained with tears, and after having her ritualistic morning cry she forced herself to get ready for the day ahead. After nipping a few sweet rolls from the Great Hall, she ignored all of the calls of her name and scurried back to the Headmaster's office with notes on the lesson plan that Dumbledore had assigned her the prior night.

It was a few hours into one particularly tricky arithimancy equation dealing with gauging transfigurative properties that the door to the office opened and a very tired looked Dumbledore paced in.

"Ah, Miss Granger," he said pleasantly as he made his way behind his desk, "any further success with the problem?"

"Somewhat, Headmaster." She scribbled down a few more notes.

"Please, call me Albus," he gave her a smile and continued. "I fear that I may soon forget the sound of it."

"Of course," she said and cracked a rare smile. While she prided herself at her analytical skills in everything from books to people, the old man sitting before her, who was now wrestling with what looked like a liquorish rope, was a complete and total impossibility to even begin to figure out.

"By the way," he said after a few minutes, "there is a bit of news that I will be announcing to the rest of the students soon and I think I should let you know first."

Placing her quill down across her lap, she looked up at the elderly wizard and nodded.

"It seems as though that the Ministry decreed this morning that the war with Voldemort will most likely begin to openly spill out all across the wizarding and muggle world."

The Headmaster gently laid down his liquorish rope and opened up the center desk drawer. "So, what they have decided to do- for once I am in complete agreement with." He pulled out a round golden object and placed it at the edge of his desk in front of her. She peered down and gasped when she saw the bold letters 'HG' shining across its face.

"They have decided that the school will remain open for as long as the war goes on, considering how well the castle held against his attacks."

He nodded towards the badge and continued, "Essentially, this means that the summer break will now be considered a 'exploratory semester', wherein students will be given classes that are not a part of the normal curricula- hence, we're going to have to do quite a lot of brainstorming to think up some new ones-," he looked over to a small calendar whirring around on the wall, "-in two weeks."

"Headma- Albus," she said hesitantly, "why is this happening though?"

"The ministry feels that there is really no safer place for children." His eyes turned dull as he continued, "I am inclined to agree, actually. The parents know that it is only a matter of time before Voldemort seeks out and destroys them." Hermione dipped her head and closed her eyes, trying to quell the burning tears that threatened to escape her eyes at the thought of her parents.

"The parent of every child here has been informed, and save for a few rather extraordinary cases, they agree. So it is in the best interests of all that we not only continue to nourish the minds of each child, but strive these coming years to see that when this war is done, they are prepared for anything that they shall ever meet."

"A few years, sir?" she glanced over at the sleeping form of Fawkes. "Do you really think this war will last that long?"

"It would be folly to presume otherwise, my dear." He looked down sadly for a moment and continued. "I fear that we've only seen a mere fraction of the forces that Voldemort possesses."

The two sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the gravity of his words. Hermione looked back down to the parchment and tried to stave away the tremble in her hands. It was no use distracting herself, it didn't work. Try as she did to quell the thirst for vengeance on the two that betrayed Harry, every single shred of the castle, every fabric clinging around her body, even her reflection sent such an explosive wave of hatred coursing through her.

She knew deep down inside of her that she would not live to see the end of the war- she was Harry's closest companion after all- and if she was honest with her deepest feelings, she knew that she would have probably become more than that to him if those two bastards had not betrayed him. And that particular sentiment was probably well known by both Ron and Ginny,

They would come, that was to be a certainty. The next time Voldemort came for this castle, it would be a total massacre. She was at her wits end, and as she stood up and bid the Headmaster a good evening, she concluded that she would have her vengeance against the siblings and there was no force that the Dark Lord possessed that could stop her.


	4. Necessity

**Disclaimer**: All recognizable characters and content are the property of their respective owners. The only thing that belongs to me is the terror I will feel at some point because this plot actually came from my brain.

**AN**: Here we go. This chapter rewinds a little bit to later in the day of the battle. I'm trying a little experiment with narrative change in this first scene, so just a heads up on that. Once again, this story is rated M for a reason. If you are offended by vulgar imagery or adjectives, turn away now.

**Chapter 4 – Necessity**

"War is peace.  
Freedom is slavery.  
Ignorance is strength."

George Orwell, _1984_

They warned him, they did. They said, Gregory, dark's not just the shade of the night, it's a thing no little boy can understand. The forest, the one the magicfolk in little ol' Cobswitch called forbidden, they said it was dark. Too dark in some stretches. But it bordered them, right there at the edge of town all tempting… _enticing_… like a fit, blonde bird licking her cherry lips from across the pub, innit?

Couldn't have been more than eleven at the time- had to have been then, come to think of it. All the lads of Cob and the Downs were prancing off te some castle in the highlands to wiggle their sticks at feathers and _make 'em_ _soar_. He wanted to go, he did; but they told him no Greggy, they won't take the likes of a squib, and a stupid one at that, where your mates are going.

"They'll be a' changed when they get back, and you old Greggy will be as good as a runny shite to them." Presenting a toast to his snoring friend, Erol took a liberal swig from his flask before slamming it down on an old apple crate by his own bed. Then a low, raspy cackle lifted from his thin, chapped lips. "Was your dear old mum that told ye that nugget, right?"

He wanted to prove himself, he did; stronger than their spells, brighter than the ends of their sticks. He wanted tales as tall as the lot he knew his mates would return yammering on about. And since the git couldn't read his own name, that only left him one option.

Lil' old Greggy wanted a piece of adventure to call his own. Try it once, he told himself. Ventured through the dangly boughs between the two great fat oaks resting at the edge of the old Greengrass place, he did. Probably looked like the pearly gates to him at that point. Carry on there, he said. Straight from there 'til all the light's behind ye and there are no doubts of the man ye are. What did they know about the dark, he scoffed. How bad could it be? Those wiggly fingered knobs weren't men in his eyes anyway. Really, they wore dresses. Things haven't been that dandy in the Isles since Lizzy and the Almighty sank that Armada.

He was stupid then. Fucking stupid some might add. Ran on in, he did, with nothing but a knotted branch and a lantern in his pudgy hands to beat away all the beasties. He didn't get far if memory served. Didn't know this bird had teeth; pointy ones, small ones, some bigger than a grown man's fuckin' hand. All kinds of things keen to bite a ways into flesh 'fore ye knew what the fangs belonged to. Didn't know spiders could get that bloody big either. The ways to die in the old Cobsmurk were as aplenty as cones on a pine. Unfortunately for him, the lumberin' git put his path straight through a den of such array of teeth. Greggy was lucky the teeth that took his right foot was just a baby Yarpsnarl, a fucking unholy union of a hound and rat. It was only because of our dear Mol he was still kicking.

Well, with one leg. But who's counting, yeah?

Fat Mol took him in, he did. He was as Scot as they come. He said boy, ye want te be troddin' all up and in that blasted forest, ye be needed te learn much then. He fattened little Greggy up, watched him grow til he was as big as a centaur himself- taught him the birds and the bees of the wood, the tits for tats and all that. Taught him how to punch a man's teeth clean through his skull. And learn he did, learned to keep his old wicker lantern for his trips into the wood- hooked it on the knee of that wooden leg of his when the catch of the ruddy day was too big for one of his gargantuan arms. Oh he learned alright, Greggy got himself a bigger stick to take, one as big as a man just in case the woods wanted te play rough. Mol didn't teach him how te track lucradin or how the smell of a pixie fart summons all sorts of hell to a grove. That is my job, innit. That is my specialty.

Greggy got good at clubbin' all manner of beasties over their heads, real good. Then he put the dim-witted bastard under my care. Me, a stick wiggler.

"Erol!"

The deep roar of his name immediately put him on edge. Erol looked away from the attic corner where Gregory's massive sleeping form twitched and shook the tiny cot he draped over. A great, big pounding of heavy feet clambering their way up the diminutive stairwell met his ears, tramping like cracks of thunder under worn, weakened boards and through the open, partially collapsed door. It was Boss, it had to be. The moment a long mane of greasy white hair, slickened back into a poorly kempt pony tail came into view, Erol shot from his bed.

Mol stomped into the tiny room, his eyes wide and searching as he leaned onto his cane.

"What in the bleeding hell are you two- oh for God's sake! Gregory!" The rotund man brandished his cane and sent a few firm smacks down on the Gregory's massive feet.

At once the giant of a man wriggled to life. His tired, heavy eyes pried mere a hair's breadth apart.

"Oh…" Greggy pushed himself up, rubbing his away the drool of his cheek. "Alright there, boss?"

"Well," Mol began to tap his cane on the floor, a snarl working its way up under his bushy mustache. "I would ask if either of you have stuck your heads outside today, but that would be about as productive as a fart in a hurricane, wouldn't it."

Erol blinked his wide, owlish eyes for a moment, wondering what his boss was so livid about. Mol told them to stay put, he did. The forest had been stirring all strange and dark for days now. Even the elders of Cobswitch were oddly quieted at the town pub, not trading gossips or grand tales, just looks- wearied, nervous looks toward the forest, towards each other with some unspoken omen gleaming in their eyes. There'd be no work, Mol told them, not until the nightmares hidden in the forest's din and dew were _natural_ again.

"What are you on about, Mol?" asked Erol.

"You can't be serious," the older man sighed heavily. "Did you not hear it?"

Erol looked down to Gregory, who simply looked back up to him with an utterly confused expression on his face.

"Hear what boss?" Erol inquired.

"The explosion this morning, you dolts!"

Erol scratched the last puffy wisps of blonde hair left on the front of his shiny, bald head for a moment. Explosion? He mulled the word over as her turned his head and looked towards the room's lone, small window facing the western fringe of the Cobsmurk. Everything looked normal. There was a thick haze floating above the treeline, simmering in the late afternoon sun; a few birds were darting in and out of the forest's gloom. Other than that, it was still- strangely still. A frown fell on his gaunt, sunken cheeks, but he made no effort to let his thoughts wander any longer. Turning back to Fat Mol, he jerked his thumb to the window over his shoulder and replied.

"What explosion, boss?"

"Are ye blind man? I'm speaking of the mushroom cloud rising like the Savior out of the middle of the woods!" At once the cane raised high above the portly man's head before hurtling down to the crate by Erol's knee. The wiry man would have flinched as its rotted planks split with a loud crack, but his eyes fell along with his flask as it tumbled to the floor and spilled.

_Bollocks_.

"What happened then?" Gregory said, his glance dancing between Erol and Mol.

"Ye boys will be finding out." Mol said bluntly, pointing his can over to a small trunk in the far corner of the room where most of their supplies were kept.

"But boss," Gregory said in a whiny voice. "Won't it be next morning by the time we get that far in?"

"Then bring a tent! Gregory, get your club. Erol, take a bottle of Sniffer with you. Something's happened out there and that means there'll bound te be wounded things." Mol laboriously turned back to the door, tapping his cane on the floor a couple of times before pointing its end towards the stairs. "Get te movin'. Ye boys got some bagging to do."

**-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-; -;-;-;-;**

Something was wrong with him.

There was pain in his back, not a deep one, but sharp enough to stir his thoughts. Sounds were bleeding into his awareness, slowly but surely, and things were coming to life around him. There came a patter of crackling leaves under light steps first somewhere behind his head, then again, somewhere below the heels of his feet. He tried to move his head, but a gentle thrum of alarm gaining volume in his mind was all that happened. He couldn't feel his neck or its muscles twitching under the mantra of his command to move. Nothing was there, no feeling, no response. It was almost as if it were dead.

Dead…?

With all his energy, he strained to open his eyes. The sounds of leaves crunching and breaking multiplied until it sounded all around him. A similar, sharp pain suddenly bloomed on the calf of his right leg.

He tried to open his eyes once more, and for just a moment the veil lifted, but only for the scantest of breadth. Yet, it was enough to see the source of the sound. Seeing the coal black eyes of a crow inches from his own, twitching and raking its way over his face was enough for him to turn his thoughts towards a more pressing matter.

Where was he?

Beyond the small sounds around, he could hear the rustling of leaves high above. The forest, yes, he was lying in a clearing somewhere inside the Forbidden Forest, but…

He searched his mind, trying his best to remember what put him there. Images far too fractured and far too brief to divine any clue from flashed across this thoughts. Red hair, red eyes, red Earth.

Red Earth… blood. There was a hillside covered in it. Brown eyes, wide with worry, filling with angry tears.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a different sound unlike anything he could recall. It sounded so far away, but it seemed to drawing closer. The pattering stopped and not a moment later he heard a chorus of wings flap into a frenzy before setting off into the distance. The sound grew louder, deeper, and so he strained his ears, wondering what it was.

It was a slow, relax rhythm.

_thump, thump_

_thump, thump_

The closer it came, he began to notice nuances in the beat. It sounded deep and deadened as though some barrier kept its true tone muffled.

A notion occurred to him. There was a familiarity to its pace, one he had even heard that day. He recalled it pumping in his ears as he faced red hair and red eyes, but what was it? Not the wind, no, it couldn't have been that. It was something closer, perhaps something inside of him.

Red Earth… blood.

He had been covered by it too, hadn't he? His own had stained his shirt, others had splashed over his face. Blood- pumping, frantic blood, that's what he heard in his ears roaring over the rest of the world.

_thump, thump_

_thump, thump_

The sound came into the clearing accompanied by the thudding of hooves padding over the ground.

All of a sudden his senses burst to life. The air around him filled with a sweet, coppery smell, tempting him to move towards its source, coaxing his dormant muscles into a frenzy of need and action. His eyes burst open taking in the pitched gloom of the grove just before they landed on his mark.

Before all the world dissolved under a crimson veil, a new sensation blossomed in his chest- hunger.

**-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-; -;-;-;-;**

He awoke with a start.

The taste of copper was soaked into his tongue; dried, unmoving as though days had passed since it had buried that sense. He wanted to wipe it away, and he would have some minutes before if his mud-caked hands were occupied with keeping him clawing inch by inch over the thickly leaved earth. He had to move away no matter how much his body groaned for respite. He had to move over, he had to away.

He couldn't look at the dead fawn any longer.

The kill was fresh, that much was obvious. The smell of death still was pungent, filling his nose and grazing his lips in this tiny grove he couldn't find purchase from. Though his glasses were gone he could tell the canopy far above was thick and black, not a whisper of any other life rustling its sunless foliage. The grove's suffocating walls crept around him, seemingly bent to bar him and such a grizzly scene from whatever lay beyond its gnarled brush. The mud underneath the groundcover gave too easily to his grip. It let him sink and lumber with drag by pitiful, flailing drag of his numbed, uncontrollable legs. And on some unfortunate lunges forward, he soon found his entire hand sinking into the cool, damp soil. Still he tried to crawl. The revulsion threatening to leave him curling with nausea from the blood and flesh covering both his forearms was more than enough motivation.

Yet he was growing weaker by the second. His head was growing heavier, lulling around weightless and limply. His fingers dug into the earth, clawing harder and harder to get him away from the fawn. Grunts of desperation, of exertion, were hissing out of him with each ragged breath until it was too much to fight and he collapsed back onto the soggy ground with a small thud.

The last he registered before succumbing to his fatigue was the sound of two voices whispering in the brush ahead.

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"He's in there, Greggy." Erol whispered over his shoulder, signaling to some unmoving mass just beyond the thick brush they crept up behind. "A damned Welp, he is! I told ye, didn't I! Boss is going to love this."

A Welp, Gregory thought. What was a creature like that doing out here all alone?

Boss called them _Welps_; Erol had said once that he'd taken a liking to that title for a very special reason he kept to himself. Erol told him though, told him the secret of the name and how it reckoned to be. It came from The Pit. It was the sound those freshly risen scums would make every time Mol cut them. The boss liked to cut them deep—not to scar them, no. Couldn't do that anyway. Their healing ways forbid that from the start. Fat Mol cut them so they'd know they weren't sitting pretty atop the food chain in his home. They were animals to be tamed, to be molded, and a blade slicing up a muscle or two never failed to remind a Welp where they stood in the pecking order.

"Let's get on with it, then. Right?" Gregory whispered excitedly. Bloody pot of gold it was they _Sniffed_ one out about a mile back. Fat Mol was gonna pay them good tonight.

"Right, right. You first, mate." Erol gestured him forward. "If he moves or ye see those bloody fangs, ye better club him hard."

With a growl on his lips, Gregory shot out from the bushes with his club high above his head. However, the very moment he had the Welp in sight, he stopped in his tracks.

"I think he's dead, Erol." Gregory called back to his friend, who quickly stepped into the clearing with his stick pointed down at the vampire.

"Bloody hell," Erol said to his right as he took a step closer to the unusually thin beast. "He's not dead, but by God, I'm sure he wishes he was by the looks of these wounds."

Gregory blew out a breath in agreement. Most of the Welp's clothes were torn to shreds. The sleeve that should've been covering his right arm was completely gone. In its place was nothing but blood that seemed to have come from a rather nasty looking wound near his shoulder. If that wasn't bad enough, there were cuts everywhere- his arms, his legs, his chest. The crows had gotten to the poor bloke before they did, from the looks of it.

Something was wrong about this Welp here though. He was a kid, a pencil-thin, scrawny little thing that looked like he hadn't fed in months. Gregory was expecting a little more monster hidden in the grove and a little less sickling.

No matter though, Mol would pay them anyway.

"Well, let's get him to his new home, yeah?"

Erol pulled a massive, silvery knife from its sheath strapped to his thigh, but Gregory didn't know why. This welp was young, emaciated beyond any blood-sucker he'd seen in his two dozen years of scouring this forest. The knife Erol was holding out steadily in front of him as they approached the still body was too large for this. It would cleave the pitiful creature clean in half if he swung hard enough. Its wide, forward arcing blade was meant for bigger pests- acromantula, centaur, wights- not outcasts.

Just as they came just a few steps away from the Welp, Gregory noticed something that made him stop in his tracks.

"Hey, Erol?" Gregory squinted at the area around the Welp, making sure he wasn't mistaken. "What's the matter with him?"

His friend rolled his eyes. "Apart from being a blood-sucking monster?"

"No, I mean that." His large pudgy finger poked towards the prone body. "He's in the sun, yeah?"

Erol glanced up the canopy, scratching the wiry, unkempt whiskers on his chin. "What of it? We've best be movin' and not chattin', Greggy."

"Well…" The rotund giant of a man paused, trying to find the words to explain his confusion.

Erol gave a sigh of exasperation. "Spit it out man. Haven't got all day, do we."

"Erol… How is he not cooking?"

"Cooking…?" He echoed, his bulged, permanently widened eyes blinking owlishly.

"You know. He's not… catchin' on fire."

The expression on Erol's face shifted to one of confusion, but only briefly. He gave a dismissive wave and then pointed down to their catch. "Best to leave questions like that nice and undisturbed like our new friend here. Now let's go."

Gregory nodded, and without another word he bent down onto his wooden leg and moved to pick the boy up.

"What do ye think you're doing, ye git!?" Erol hissed, smacking the back of his head once more. "Ye typically don't exchange pleasantries with one of them after they wake, mate."

Gregory scrambled to his feet and backed away, and immediately, Erol brushed passed him, holding his stick in front of him as he went.

"Just hit him of he moves, alright?" Erol flicked his wrist, and a smile curled at the edges of his scowl as the body began to slowly rise from the earth. Good, Gregory thought. The fledgling didn't wake.

The body slowed to a stopped, hovering in the air around the height of his bald friend's chest before the older man gave a subtle nod. "We're good."

With that, Gregory grabbed his lantern from the hook on his knee and began to make his way back through the brush.

"What'll Boss do with 'im, Erol?" Gregory said over his shoulder as he pushed his way between two thick shrubs.

"He's an outcast. That's why he's out here, yeah? Not even the clans wanted this rubbish, so we'll do what we always do with the garbage, mate." Erol gave a throaty, cackling laugh and then replied. "He'll be feed for The Pit, Greggy. Feed for The Pit."

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**AN**: There was something I forgot to mention in the update notes I posted. I've written a few scenes that will be flashbacks of the events that led up to the battle in the first chapter because there are quite a few things that I'd love to flesh out about it. The only question I have is how many of you will want my head on a platter if I write in any Harry/Ginny scenes in them? I can easily just have them implied instead of being fully detailed out, but they will be mention no matter what. So please leave a comment in your review about which you would prefer. Either way is fine by me.

Let me know what you guys thought about this update!


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